A Little Sunshine
by Ayrith
Summary: It's a morning of lonely muffins, House Colors, books, and the discovery of a crime smuggling ring for bacon bits. Gryffindors always get the good stuff.


The know-it-all Gryffindor walks through the doors of the Great Hall at 7 AM while Draco is helping himself to a muffin. He pauses over the marmalade, licking lips sticky with pumpkin juice, and squints his eyes at that horrendous head of bushy hair blocking his perfect view of the morning sun.

Not that he was looking at the sky in particular this morning (or any morning), but it's one of those unspoken privileges that Draco has come to rely on being there, even if he chooses not to use it. Draco knows it's written somewhere (in blood, no doubt) that a Malfoy is allowed as much sun exposure as he can afford and at any time he determines. Except now, he can't. And _she_ can. Potential lost, potential wasted. Draco takes these sort of offenses very seriously. So seriously, that he finds himself casting quick glances around the rather empty Great Hall, quietly setting down his butter knife, and slinking around the Slytherin table.

He tells himself to walk all cool-like down the aisle between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, one hand in his robe pocket, the other loosening his Slytherin green tie. He _feels_ cool, though his face is a mask of seriousness when he approaches Granger's solitary silhouette, a slender reed of a body curled beneath what looks like a Troll's armpit hair.

He stands behind her and peers over her shoulder. The know-it-all is reading. His eyes squint at the top page. _Hogwarts: a History_ , eh?

"Do you think reading about Hogwarts will mean you belong here that much more?" he says rather loudly, startling Granger so bad that she nearly knocks over her pumpkin juice. She looks up at him with wide eyes. The piece of toast between her fingers falls limp to her plate as Draco seats himself rather comfortably on the bench. Right next to Granger. As he predicts, she scoots away immediately, her expression horrified.

"E-Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Granger," Malfoy replies, eying her piece of toast before deciding that it's too dirty to touch. Instead, he turns a blaring smile on her. "Do you think you're a more worthy student because you've read that…paper weight?" He waves a hand at _Hogwarts: a History._ "Because really, I should tell you right now, it'll never work. There are some hurdles you just can't jump."

Granger blushes furiously and snatches up her book, holding it tightly to her chest. She seems to have ignored his (rather cunning) quip all together, much to his annoyance. "W-What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco pauses, pondering on whether he should answer her question or needle her for not answering his. Deciding that he doesn't want to encourage a conversation with the likes of _her_ , he simply says, "To reclaim a bit of sunshine."

Now Granger just looks dumb. The pink circle of her lips is just hanging open, waiting for baby Hippogryphs to squeeze in and roost awhile. "What?"

Draco decides he doesn't like her tone. "Do you realize that your atrocious hair has eclipsed the Slytherin table? I have missed seven complete minutes of sunshine because of you," here, he gives her a perfect glare and sniffs, "and I fully intend to collect my dues. With interest."

Granger stares at him. And stares. And stares some more. Draco is unable to concentrate on absorbing the rays of sunlight when she is staring so rudely. "What?" he snaps.

Granger looks a little embarrassed. Except Draco has the distinct feeling it's not for herself. "Are you serious?"

Draco's face smoothes out and he raises a lone, terrible eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm joking?"

Granger huffs then, ruffling all over like a hen disturbed from her nest. "What are you, three years old? Do you get offended when someone breathes more air than you do? I bet you probably think you own half the breathable air on the island!" She's getting worked up now. Draco looks on, amused.

" _Seven complete minutes,"_ she mutters scathingly. " _That_ is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard…"

Draco shakes his head, a knowing look on his face. "Yes, well I never thought you were the sympathetic type. "

"I—What?" Granger startled look, which Draco savors like a lick of margarine, all too soon gives way to outrage. "I am too sympathetic! I'll have you know that I—"

"That you what? If you really were sympathetic, you would do us all a favor and shave that _monstrosity_ off. Not only will it benefit the rest of us, I assure you'll look _loads_ better."

Granger glares at him. "I can't believe you."

Draco is already eying a sweet smelling plate of bacon. "Yes, well sometimes I can't believe I exist either. Amazing, right?"

That shuts Granger up long enough for Draco to decide that Gryffindor bacon can't be that much worse than Slytherin's. At least it's not Hufflepuff's, Draco tells himself, because he is quite sure they get the crusty black rinds that are left over from previous meals. Who would waste a perfectly good strip of bacon on a Hufflepuff?

Draco reaches over, intent on nabbing a particularly juicy piece, when Granger swats at his hand. He jumps, and then turns to glare at her, nursing his hand protectively. "What the-?"

"For Merlin's sake," Granger snaps. "Get your own stupid bacon at your own table."

Draco's gaze, at first angry, immediately turns suspicious. "Why? Have you been all buddy-buddy with the house elves lately and convinced them to give your table the best strips of bacon?"

That is almost the last straw. Granger bites her tongue with effort and says nothing, though her eyes are narrowed slits. Draco returns the glare, flickering eyelash for flickering eyelash, and feels quite satisfied when she turns away with a frustrated growl. As he returns to perusing the Gryffindor breakfast, now very intent on snatching himself some fried hog, he catches her look at the book in her arms, and then glance up at him again.

"You know," Granger beings scathingly, "I was just reading up the reason behind House colors. Hufflepuff yellow is for warmth, and Ravenclaw blue signifies depth. I can even understand Gryffindor red, for passion. But Slytherin green? There was no answer for that choice in here." She pats the books softly, and then stands up to leave.

"And why should I care?" Draco drawls, purposefully reaching over to snatch a strip of bacon from the Gryffindor pile. A second year Gryffindor on the other side of the table glares, and Draco is so preoccupied sneering back that he doesn't catch Granger study him.

When he finally looks back at her, she looks pleasantly smug. "Have you ever heard of the saying, 'The grass is always greener on the other-side'?"

Draco blinks around his bacon. "Wha?"

Granger looks delighted. _Uh-oh._ She smiles sweetly. "Yes, well perhaps you should look it up sometime. Your house would do well to learn from it." She pauses for effect, in which Draco's eyes narrow. Before he can cut her off, however, she chirps, "After all, no one but Slytherin can wear a shade of envy quite so fittingly."

With that, she flounces away, and damn if she doesn't look cool while doing it.

Draco stares after her, his mouth slightly open, until he hears a cough across the aisle. He looks up to see a fourth year Hufflepuff smiling at him with pity.

"You should probably get away from the Gryffindor table," he says, and points to the door. Draco looks up and realizes that seven Gryffindors are pushing their way through the hall, two of whom look suspiciously like the Weasley twins, and are heading his way.

Draco decides it's about time to return to his lonely muffin on the other side of the room. Who cares for sun, anyway?


End file.
